The Job
by Jambammer
Summary: Pre-Season 1. The job takes Dean many places, and lets him meet many people. Like strippers.


A/N: This was just done to get a character out of my head. Written for myself, but I kind of liked her, so I thought I'd share.

* * *

He wasn't shy about the fact that he loved it when a case involved strippers.

Specifically, strippers _stripping._

A haunted strip club. It was a dream come true. Dad was off on another case, and whatever Sam was doing in college… well, he was missing out.

So many gorgeous ladies, so little time. He couldn't even give them his full attention – he was on a job after all, as he had to keep reminding himself – but they had a good deal of it.

Sammy probably would have pointed out that he didn't need to be there this early, that Dean could have shown up before closing to interview the girls and then investigate the place.

Dean shook his head. He wasn't about to let Sam ruin the evening when his little brother wasn't even there. Not when there was this gorgeous girl with flaming fake red hair bending down in front of him. Candy, or Lolli, or something like that.

She'd taken a liking to him. He'd noticed.

Those smoky eyes, glossy, smirking, parted lips…

_God_, he loved this job sometimes.

Too bad there was screaming coming from the back of the building. Her grey eyes raised to look behind him, her attention stolen by whatever horror was undoubtedly behind him.

_God,_ he hated this job sometimes.

"Get down!" She shoved him to the ground.

"Lady, don't worry about me," he replied, pulling his gun from his waistband. "I got—" he looked over at her, and wondered where on Earth she'd been hiding the tiny handgun she now held in her hands.

"Regular bullets won't work on this thing. Stay out of the way and keep that pretty face of yours safe," she said, eyes fixed upon the silver blur making its way to them. She fired, making it shriek as it dissipated.

"Rocksalt."

She looked over at him. "You're a hunter?"

This was unexpected. "But you're a stripper," was all he managed to say.

"I prefer dancer," she shrugged. "And I'm undercover."

"You're too experienced for this to be a one time thing," he noted.

"You're obviously an experienced watcher," she replied simply.

"Don't deny that." The building was silent, everyone having fled as quickly as they could. "How long do we have until it's back?"

She huffed at her hair. "Not long. As far as I've worked out, it's the spirit of a girl who danced here in the eighties."

"Yeah, she was murdered by a jealous boyfriend and has since gone mad," Dean nodded. "I've done my research too."

"Good. Researched where she was buried?"

"Trick question. She was cremated, but her entire body was never found."

The girl raised an eyebrow, obviously impressed, and smiled. "So you do know your stuff."

Dean shrugged. "I try." His eyes scanned the room. "Crazy bitch stripper ghost. And I thought I'd seen it all."

"Dancer," the girl beside him corrected, and he looked back to her with a questioning look. "It's a hobby. I'm allowed a hobby," she told him defensively. "But it's dancing."

"Whatever you say. So you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I'm thinking she's liked buried in the building somehow, so we gotta torch the place."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, before closing it and nodding. "Close enough. We gotta light her up and now." He couldn't believe what he was about to say next to the girl in a black bra and panties. "Time's of the essence; I hate to say it, but we should get your clothes and fast."

She cocked her head as she stood up and pointed to her stilettoes. "Why? I'm wearing shoes."

It didn't take long until they were standing outside, watching as the flames engulfed the building.

The girl shivered under the leather coat he'd draped around her shoulders.

"Told you you shoulda grabbed your clothes," he told her dryly.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Where's the fun in freezing?" She just grinned in response. "I didn't get your name."

"Cinnamon tonight, though I'm fond of Peppermint too."

"Your actual name," Dean told her.

"Where's the fun in that?" She asked again. "Adrianna. Dri, preferably."

"Hi Dri, I'm Dean," he extended his hand, and she shook it. "It was very nice to meet you. Believe me, I enjoyed it."

"Hope we can work together again sometime," she smiled. "Now if you wouldn't mind giving me a ride back to where I'm staying, that would be great. I don't feel like walking back to the motel half naked."

"I told you to get your things!"

Dri just smirked. "Take me back, let me get changed and then I'll buy you dinner – or rather, you'll buy us dinner since I think most of what I earned tonight came from you anyways."

"Now _that_ sounds fun," he agreed, and led her to where his car was parked.

Sometimes…. sometimes the job wasn't that bad.


End file.
